


Prompt: Hope Spot

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [47]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Civil War (Marvel), Civil War speculation, Codependency, Gen, Hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is some bad business,” one of the two says. It’s a man, long dark coat, an eye patch, fluorescent lights gleaming off his bald head. <i>“And</i> its left most of ‘em laid up in medical.” He shivers, and from the slight smiling quirk to his companion’s mouth its more likely a habit than a true reaction. “I hate medical,” he grumbles as they walk in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: Hope Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



> Written for a prompt on my tumblr, readable [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/140935244390/eyo-eyo-here-2-prompt-the-hope-spot-thing-if-u).

If one listens one can hear two sets of footsteps making their way through the now-empty Avengers facility. Well. It’s not really _empty_ , per se, but it is certainly emptier than it was, with so many employees run off in fear or the hard decision between two sides they may have looked up to. Some few remain, and it is towards them the two pairs of feet walk.

“This is some bad business,” one of the two says. It’s a man, long dark coat, an eye patch, fluorescent lights gleaming off his bald head. “ _And_ its left most of ‘em laid up in medical.” He shivers, and from the slight smiling quirk to his companion’s mouth its more likely a habit than a true reaction. “I hate medical,” he grumbles as they walk in.

“Well,” his companion says, and anyone else might have to tuck a wisp of hair back, but this woman’s hair would never dare leave its low bun. “You might not hate it so if you actually listened to their advice, instead of taking Romanoff’s.”

“Hey,” the man says, lifting a finger, almost wagging it. “Her field-surgery tips worked.”

“That as may be, sir,” the woman says, as they pass through doors into what is clearly the beginning of medical, desks and crash carts and staff all hovering around and passing through still more doors to another room beyond. “But that doesn’t mean you should use them when medical is _two streets away_.”

“I had to pretend to be _dead,_  Hill, I’m allowed to use what First Aid I choose.”

The quirk of Hill’s lips becomes more pronounced. “I think medical would disagree on vodka to sterilise a stomach wound, sir.”

There is, if one listens carefully, the quiet sound of one nurse muttering, “We absolutely do, Director Fury.”

“Alright,” Fury says. “Maybe that was a mistake. The glue trick worked though.”

Hill’s voice is flat. “You were in medical for almost a month.”

Fury tilts his head slightly and they are briefly quiet. The noise of the doors is soft as they pass through another pair of them. The man affects a shiver again. “Urgh,” he says. “I _hate_  medical.”

They walk past beds, at last, machines humming and beeping in time with the breath and pulse of those in the respective beds. Most are sleeping, with a very few awake, likely aided by the late time. It was easier, after all, to move around at night, especially when people thought you - and your organisation - dead.

“They’re all doing well?” Fury asks quietly as they pass by. His eyes are on the beds, his head tilted towards Hill.

“As well as can be,” Hill says. “Doctor Cho’s Cradle saved lives again, sir.”

“She’s a brilliant Doctor,” Fury acknowledges. They near faces that are more recognisable, men and a red haired woman laid up with broken limbs held out of the way in casts, and bandages wrapped around ribs. Some have butterfly bandages on cuts on their faces, and one man has a spectacular black eye.

“Where’s-?” Fury begins before Hill points.

“Through here,” she says. “Her powers go haywire with her nightmares right now, she was inducing nightmares in the others, destroying tech, immobilizing staff who were in range. They decided it was best to keep her apart.”

When they finally reach her Wanda Maximoff looks small on her bed, dark hair splayed around her face, skin pale, deep bags beneath her eyes. Beside her an android sits, magenta skin and dark blue clothes, his eyes shut as though he’s sleeping.

“Rogers was with her a while,” Hill murmurs. “But he had to handle a few things what with Stark laid up.”

“Laid up because of him,” Fury mutters. “God, you’d think grown men could find a better way of resolving a dispute than fighting, don’t you?”

Beside him Hill is silent. 

“How’s she doing?" he asks eventually. “Has she lost control of her powers temporarily or is it a permanent thing?”

Hill shrugs one suited shoulder. “It’s hard to tell. Vision believes the fight triggered her PTSD, Rogers thinks that having to fight without her brother did the same thing to her brain his fighting without Barnes did to him. You know how he pitched himself into the ice instead of any other option.”

“And he went and hurled himself into the Potomac when he thought Barnes was alive,” Fury mutters. “These kids need therapy.”

They’re quiet for a moment. There is no sound from Vision, but there is the beeping of the heart monitor, the hum of the lights and the sound of their breathing.

“This way,” Hill says eventually, voice surprisingly soft. She presses her hand to an indented panel in the wall, presses an ID to a scanner, her thumb to a pad and stands back to let Fury punch in a code. A wall panel slides back.

There, in a tank humming and glowing with the same lights of one of Doctor Cho’s Cradles, is Pietro Maximoff. At a panel Doctor Cho is tapping away, adjusting an IV and checking readings.

“How’s he doing?” Fury asks, striding forward.

“Well,” Doctor Cho says. “His brain readings are much more stable, his heart rate is normal. He’s healed without a scar.”

“And the IV tests?” Fury peers over Doctor Cho’s shoulder as she brings up charts.

“His homeostasis is incredible, I’ve not seen anything like it. It’s almost as though he’s hibernating, even though we’re having to give him larger doses of sedative to keep him in the coma.” She taps again, offers a spare panel to Hill. “We knew he could withstand kinetic forces, friction, lower levels of oxygen, and that his metabolism was enhanced, but these readings suggest that he could function at a normal level with much less than the average human.”

“What about waking him?” Hill asks. “The way he’s getting through sedative it looks like his body _knows_ it’s artificial.”

“Maybe that’s what the Stone did,” Fury says, gaze shrewd as he considers Hill’s words. “His sister gets the ability to peel apart our brains and destroy the world around us, he gets to know his body perfectly and run at superspeed. Internal and external, in different ways.”

Doctor Cho glances between them. “I’d have to run tests on the Stone to be sure,” she says. “And waking him...” she glances to the man in the tank, the advanced form of Cradle buzzing around him, taking readings instead of repairing flesh. “We could,” she says. “But we don’t know if he’ll be the same. There was no brain activity at all when he was brought to me and he wasn’t breathing. Frankly the fact that he’s at this state now is a miracle.”

“Miracles,” Fury huffs. “Terrifying everyone.”

“Waking him,” Hill points out, “Might give the _other_  Maximoff back control of her powers. If its PTSD or because she had to fight without her brother, bringing him back would undoubtedly help.”

Fury looks shrewd as he considers while Doctor Cho only looks worried, panickedly tapping over her tablet. “We still don’t know if his brain scans are normal,” she says, “And how he would react to the missing time, to memories of having _died_ , if his brain is intact.”

Hill sounds uncertain as she says, “The brain scans _look_  intact.”

“They do,” Doctor Cho admits, “but he was _medically dead_. No brain activity, no pulse. Him like this-” she gestures to Pietro in the tank. “I called it a miracle for a reason.”

Fury paces, Fury pauses, Fury goes to stand by the tank, fingers tapping over the metal. Hill and Doctor Cho converse in low voices, Cho showing Hill data, Hill trying to parse it as quickly as it was shown.

“We do it,” Fury says eventually, and his voice rings out against the concrete. “We managed it with Coulson, so maybe Fate won’t play ball this time, but we can’t know if we don’t try.” He rocks back on his heels, lets go of the metal his fingers had been tapping over. “Cut the sedatives out.”

Cho looks concerned as she taps away at her tablet, as the tank hums and whirs and the IV begins to filter.

It does not take long, with the Avengers tech, and Doctor Cho’s inventions, and it takes even less time for Cho’s tablet to show Maximoff’s body processing the sedative out in moments. The first warning they have is his hand twitching, and then his hand is beating against the glass of the tank.

“Get him out,” Hill says, drawing her weapon. “Room is locked, we can take him out if necessary.”

“With superspeed?” Fury asks, brows raised.

“Practice,” Hill says, and nods to Doctor Cho. “We can handle this.”

Pietro Maximoff crumples as soon as he’s out of the tank, but holds himself up on his knees, drawing deep breaths. “Wanda,” he says, and then a burst of what Hill thinks might be some hybrid of Serbian and Austrian German, with some Russian loanwords thrown in to make it confusing. He glances up at them and tries again. “My _sister_ ,” he demands. “Where is she?”

“In the next room,” Fury says, and nods towards the now-closed panel that let them in from medical. “She’s sleeping.” Pietro looks ready to sprint there, if only he could stand, and Fury watches him closely. Fury shrugs. “And this ain’t TAHITI Protocol so I can tell you you were dead and then in a coma for almost a year.”

Pietro seems stunned, and then his head tilts back, laughing. “Ha!” he says, and then Hill almost wants to despair at what he says next. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“Oh _no_ ,” she murmurs into her hands. “There’s two Bartons on the team.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments, concrit and kudos!


End file.
